Photograph
by saoulbete
Summary: It was odd, really, how a picture could change a life.


A/N: part of me really, really wants to be embarassed for having once upon a time writing Boy Meets World fanfic. The other part of me is going "y'know, I should really write more." Yes, this is Eric/Feeny. Yeah, I know, it's weird. If you don't like it, don't read it.

* * *

"Feeny! That's you?" Eric took one look at the picture on the mantle, shocked.

"Yes, Mr. Matthews, it is."

"Damn. Where was this? When was this?" He asked, genuinely surprised. He recognized the man in the photo as George Feeny, but this wasn't the George Feeny he knew. The hair was still mostly black with flecks of silver instead of mostly silver with flecks of black, and instead of a moustache there was a few days worth of scruff and stubble. Instead of sweater vests and ties there was a t-shirt. And the man in the picture was-well-it was doing funny things to Eric. The sort of things that he tried desperately to ignore every time a good looking man walked by.

The sorts of things that women did to him. The sorts of things that it was far more acceptable for women to do to him. The sorts of things that he wouldn't be judged for when women did them to him. "Cape May, I believe. Judging from the haircut, sometime in the 70's."

"Your hair's almost as long as mine."

"The follies of youth."

"You-you were better looking than me." He couldn't help but pout. This was Feeny. Feeny wasn't supposed to be hot. Feeny wasn't supposed to be sexy. Feeny wasn't supposed to have pictures of himself on a boat with his hair blowing in the breeze.

"Hard to believe, isn't it Mr. Matthews?"

"How can you be better looking than me?"

"It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, but you're Feeny. I'm Eric. I'm supposed to be the pretty one. You're-Feeny." He kept staring at the photo, wondering what had to happen to get Feeny to grin like that. "You're not supposed to be on boats and stuff." He was somewhat nervous at the way Feeny was rummaging through the bottom of a bookcase.

"Prepare to have your mind blown, Mr. Matthews." A box of photos was set upon the coffee table, and Eric cautiously grabbed a handful. He hadn't expected a shaggy haired, scruffy young man, he hadn't expected the worst of 70's fashion. He hadn't expected Feeny to have actually been a _person._ He had always been Feeny, dispenser of sage advice. Feeny, the one he could count on. Feeny, his mentor. Sprang from the earth fully formed, sweater vest, mustache and all.

"Feeny, you-you did a lot of stuff." Each photo seemed to be in a different place on the globe. Some were on boats, some were on ski slopes, some in deserts, some in jungles, some in various cities, with recognizable landmarks. Many with a woman that Eric could only assume had been his wife, some with other women, some with men that made Eric realize that Feeny actually had friends.

"Well, I only keep photos of the important moments." And Eric had to admit, compared to his mother's photo collection, there really weren't that many. Perhaps a hundred photos total, tucked into the small little box.

It was odd, really. Sitting on Feeny's couch, with Feeny next to him, going through Feeny's photos, asking the occasional question about the events leading up various photos in the box. He hadn't even been inside Feeny's house before, and here he was going through photos with him. "Hey, this is us in Boston!" He'd dragged Feeny into one of those silly photo booths that charged an arm and a leg just for silly photos, after all but forcing half a bar's worth a drinks down the older man's throat, insisting that if he couldn't drink, then Feeny was going to drink for the both of them. And once he'd gotten the first three drinks into Feeny, it was far easier to talk him into the rest. Which led to the photo of the two of them, Eric sticking his tongue out at the camera, and Feeny simply grinning with the glazed over grin of one ready to fall into a bed and sleep for the next two days. "Why'd you keep this? You spent most of the week hanging out with me looking at camping equipment."

"I enjoyed myself."

"You did?" He couldn't believe that Feeny of all people would have enjoyed spending time with him. Obviously the man didn't hate him, but every time he came up to Feeny in the student union, every time he knocked on the door, he'd gotten an exasperated sigh in response, and not anything resembling a warm and happy greeting. Hell, the only reason why he'd been invited into Feeny's house was because he'd agreed to help him move in a new TV-a bribe from a failing football player in a vain attempt to pass. "But you were supposed to spend it with that-what's-her-face?"

"If I'd spent the week with her, I would have been reminded the entire time of how many times, I've, well-"

"Blown it?"

"Yes, that."

"Hey, and this is us in Hollywood a few months ago!" It was a badly taken self photo, done with Eric holding the camera out in front of them, barely capturing half of both their heads. "Where'd you get a copy of this?"

"Your, ah, parents insisted on showing me the pictures from the trip." He blinked. Feeny had nabbed a photo of the two of them out of a stack. And put it with a whole bunch of photos of things Feeny enjoyed remembering. Which meant that Feeny wanted to remember their trip to Hollywood. And their trip to Boston. Which meant that Feeny actually wanted to remember doing things with him.

His throat was suddenly dry. This was Feeny, who wasn't supposed to be human, but rather some sort of automaton that dispensed sage advice. There wasn't supposed to be a warm thigh against his as he continued to flip though photos. He wasn't supposed to look up and be able to see an attractive young man still hiding behind crows feet and bifocals. He kept flipping through the photos, amazed at just how much of the world Feeny had seen.

He all but jumped when a hand came and snatched a photo away before he even had a chance to look at it, nearly knocking him over in the process. "What's that?" He asked, unable to help his curiosity.

"Personal."

"What's so personal about it?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be personal."

"What's so bad about a photo?" He asked making a grab for it, his curiosity getting the better from him. After all, there were tons of photos in the box of Feeny in all sorts of embarrassing positions. There was Feeny in a disco outfit from the 70's, complete with Tom Sellick porno 'stache. There was Feeny in a navy uniform that would have made the Village People jealous. There were pictures of Feeny with _him, _there couldn't be anything more embarrassing than that in there.

"Mr. Matthews, leave it alone!" It was too late, even as Feeny attempted to hold the photo in his far arm, or try to hide it somewhere on the end table, Eric made a grab for it, half climbing over the back of the couch to try and reach for it. For a moment, they scuffled, wrestling for the upper hand, before Eric managed to get a hold of Feeny's arm and pull it towards him.

Which made Eric suddenly aware of their position. He was lying down. On top of Mr. Feeny. Whose glasses had gotten knocked off in the tussle, and whose hair was now a mess. Who looked more like the picture on the mantle than he did the staid, stuffy teacher that Eric had come to know. And he found that the more he tried to not think about it, the more he did, the more he tried not to react, the more he could feel blood starting to run south. This was why he tried to avoid spending time with good looking men. This is why he tried to avoid wrestling with Jack. This was why he didn't get drunk, because the last time he did-he stopped thinking about it. This was why he hated people, for thinking it was just him being weird if he admitted that as attractive as he found bikini tops and short shorts, there was something to be said about a slightly overgrown five-o-clock shadow and broad shoulders too.

And the worst part was that the photo didn't help. A young-or at least younger-Feeny, shirtless, lips attached to, well, another man. Who looked like every stereotype of the 60's come to life. Bell bottoms, tight polo shirt, long hair. He found himself suddenly wanting to cut the photo in half and replace half with a photo of himself. "Feeny!" He tried to sound scandalized. "I would have thought you'd have standards man! You're better looking than me, why the tree hugger?" He hadn't known what reaction he was going to get.

He certainly hadn't expected the look on Feeny's face that made him think the man was staring straight into his soul. A long, appraising glance, that made him want to make sure he looked all right. The sort of glance that was looking for something. Nor did he expect Feeny to shift underneath him, and he found himself suddenly having to adjust himself on-the-fly let his traitorous body give him away. It took him a long second to realize that Feeny was-well-making himself more _comfortable_ where he lay. That Feeny wasn't trying to escape, run screaming for the hills, nothing of the sort. "Dan was-interesting. Fun. He liked to come up with all sorts of idiotic ideas that for some reason, worked."

"Sounds a little like me. Only y'know, with worse fashion sense."

"That's arguable."

"Feeny-" He found himself trying hard to come up with something to say, but couldn't. There were supposed to be speeches to be read at times like these, looking down into bright blue eyes and realizing that somewhere underneath all the layers of reserved schoolteacher was a fiendishly interesting, handsome man. Realizing that even though he'd had plans to take some sorority girl out to a nightclub, he'd much rather sit there listening to Feeny tell the stories of each and every photo in the box.

"Yes?"

"Feeny-" He was never good at these sorts of things. Talking, especially about his feelings.

"Eric." There was just the slightest hint of sarcasm in the voice, and he found himself enjoying it. What was wrong with him? This was Feeny, this wasn't just some college fling, this wasn't like getting drunk and giving sloppy blowjobs to one of the running backs on the football team, this was someone he looked up to, admired, someone he-

Rather than have to think anymore, he did the first thing that came to mind to turn off his brain. He bent his head and brushed lips to lips. It was soft, gentle, and he'd half-expected to be thrown off of where he lay. He had certainly expected some long speech about how to behave. He hadn't expected, when he pulled back, to feel one surprisingly strong hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down again.

It was funny, out of all the people he'd kissed, he'd never felt so relaxed. There had always been a sort of nervous wondering if he was doing things right, if things were going well, if whoever he was with was enjoying themselves. But this, this was different. This was safe. This felt strangely right, and it scared him. He wasn't supposed to feel like no matter what he did from here, it would be a good move. He wasn't supposed to slip his tongue inside a mouth and feel like it belonged. Tongues weren't supposed to belong in mouths that weren't his own. He wasn't supposed lay on top of someone and feel like they fit together, even with a four inch height difference. Especially not _this_ someone.

He pulled back, not sure of what to do. "This-isn't a good idea."

"No, no. You're right. It's not." As much as he wanted to go and run for the hills as the realization of what he was doing started to sink in, he couldn't move. He'd just laid there making out with _Feeny._ He'd spent all day realizing that _Feeny_ had been an extremely attractive young man. That _Feeny _was a person who'd had a past. He'd just felt all warm and safe and protected with _Feeny._ It was supposed to be all kinds of wrong, it was supposed to give him a gross sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was supposed to make him think of being yelled at and detentions and lots and lots of big red F's written in that nice neat handwriting.

"Yeah. I mean-" He tried to find some sort of protest against it. "I mean-it's just-not good." He sighed, resting his forehead against a warm shoulder.

"It's not." He felt a strong hand reach up to brush a lock of hair out of his face.

"This is-it's everything that shouldn't work. I mean, you're like, way older than me, I used to bug the crap out of you, you failed me through high school, but-it's like-it's weird. Cause it should feel all kinds of wrong, but it doesn't." He sighed. "I mean, Jack and Rachel used to give me all kinds of shit claiming I spent half my time flirting with you. And I-" He paused, suddenly thinking back over every interaction he'd had with Feeny in the past few years. "I-" How many times had he tracked down Feeny just to talk? Invited the man to go grab a beer, just because, even though he knew more often than not he'd get turned down. Hell, he kept a photo of Feeny next to his bed! "I-never realized I was doing it."

He gave a mirthless chuckle, and looked up to find Feeny with a fond smile on his face. "Did you know I was doing it?" He asked, curious to know if he was the last one to come to the realization of his feelings.

"I didn't think you were doing it intentionally."

"Feeny-" He didn't know what to do. Normally, the man he'd come to for advice in times like this was, well, Feeny. And he couldn't exactly go to Feeny for advice on Feeny. Instead, he settled for wondering if another kiss was going to be just as good as the first. And he was never good at wondering what would happen. He was Eric Matthews, man of action. So rather than wonder what was going to happen, rather than think about whether or not it was a good idea to keep going, he gently put lips to lips again.

He had to admit, the moustache tickled. It was a different sensation to what he was used to. Different, but not _bad._ Just like it was different to run his hand up a side and not feel the gentle curve of breasts. It was different to slip a hand underneath a shirt and feel a faint dusting of hair. But at the same time, it didn't feel _wrong._ It was different, to hear a distinctly masculine gasp as he discovered that Feeny liked it when he bit down ever so gently on a lower lip.

"Feeny, why doesn't this feel wrong?"

"I really couldn't say."

"Like, I can think of a thousand million reasons why this shouldn't work. But it just-I don't mind it." He paused for a moment. "Do you?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I know you're like, a zillion times smarter than me and everything, but did you figure this out before me?" He could feel Feeny sigh beneath him, the sort of sigh that always meant that there was some sort of speech incoming, and he instantly regretted the question. Just when he found something that felt right-right in a way that no girl ever had, that no fumbling nights with running backs ever had, he'd gone and ruined it.

"Eric, before this afternoon I hadn't given any thought to, well, _this._" One hand gestured at the space, or lack thereof, between them. "I'd never considered any sort of-" He was surprised. Somehow, he'd managed to make even Feeny search for words.

"You never thought of me well, _that_ way before?"

"No, I haven't."

"So why the pictures?" After all, there were pictures of him, with pictures of Feeny's former wife, and Feeny's former-well, whatever that guy was, in a box that Feeny had said meant something. Obviously, he meant something to Feeny.

"Eric, I've watched you grow up into a fine young man, who I enjoy spending time with. I'd simply never considered the possibility of, well, this."

"You mean that Feeny? You like spending time with me?"

"You tell anyone, and I'll kill you." He grinned, leaning in for another kiss. He could get used to this. He was getting used to this.

"Not a soul." He thought about it, as he lay there, lips locked. Not a soul. He'd finally found someone that it felt _right_ to kiss. Where it didn't feel all awkward. Where he could take his time exploring a jaw line, and enjoy finding out that there was a spot right by where jaw met throat that made the man below him arch up and gasp when he nibbled on it. Where he could simply relax, and not have to think if he was doing everything right. Where he didn't have to chase away errant fantasies.

And he couldn't tell anyone. Cory would freak out. He was fairly sure if his brother found out, his freak out might start world war five or something. His parents would want Feeny's head. Jack and Rachel would-well, they would probably take it the best, but probably think he was weird. And he wasn't sure it would even register with Shawn, with everything else that was going on in his brother's best-friend's life. He had the best thing he'd ever had in his life, and he couldn't tell anyone. Clearly, what he needed, was new friends.

"I need new friends." The last bit of the sentence was half-swallowed in a moan as a pair of teeth set into a spot underneath his ear that he didn't know could make him feel tingly all over like that.

"What was that?"

"I need new friends. I mean, I can't exactly tell Cory about this. Or Jack. Or my parents."

"No, you can't."

"Imagine their reactions though, huh?" He grinned.

"I'd rather not." He'd never had this before. He'd never had someone that he could lie next to and trade lazy kisses with, and enjoy just being next to. "I suppose this is our little secret."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He said, finding the idea of it to be rather bittersweet.


End file.
